


a curious, wanting thing

by moonbeatblues



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Fingersmith AU, and fancies herself very knowledgeable because of her mom but is not at all, i have the temptation to write this without explicitly showing fjord and jester interact, in which beau was kicked out and everyone else took her in, loose at best, that'd be very cool and sexy of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21831250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonbeatblues/pseuds/moonbeatblues
Summary: “Okay,” Beau says, raising her chin. “But I get half.” She swallows, thinks about the dainty price tags hanging off the dresses in the tailor’s, the scribbled numbers. How her mother never batted an eye before stuffing her into one. How much richer the Lavorres are than the Lionetts.All the bread, the cheese just one dress would buy.“And her dresses.”Fjord smiles. His tusks are whittled down so clean— why he still does it, she doesn’t know. Force of habit, maybe, or just used to it. It must hurt like the devil.“Deal.”(a fingersmith au)
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Nott, Fjord & Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	a curious, wanting thing

**Author's Note:**

> for once, the title isn't a song, it's a fingersmith quote
> 
> i. want so desperately to believe that i will follow through on this-- it's easier to make myself if i know other people have read it.

“You’re the best we’ve got,” the Captain says— _Fjord_ says— and is right, she is.

  
  
_Sticky fingers, you’ve got_ , Nott would croon at her when she was younger, smoothing back the loose little hairs on her forehead, pressing her face up against Beau’s like a cat. _I'm so glad we found you._

  
  
“Okay,” she says, raising her chin. “But I get half.” She swallows, thinks about the dainty price tags hanging off the dresses in the tailor’s, the scribbled numbers. How her mother never batted an eye before stuffing her into one. How much richer the Lavorres are than the Lionetts.  
  
All the bread, the cheese just one dress would buy.

  
  
“And her dresses.”

  
  
Fjord smiles. His tusks are whittled down so clean— why he still does it, she doesn’t know. Force of habit, maybe, or just used to how they feel. It must hurt like the devil.  
  
When they’d met, maybe, she’d have thought it was a leer. But they’re not like that— Fjord’s a good one, honest, just a different kind of thief. He steals people’s eyes onto him, their attention, their kindness, and in his shade Beau can rob them blind with her sticky fingers and quiet feet.  
  
“Deal.”  
  
—  
  
The carriage ride is stupidly long— Beau kicks her feet, at first, until the driver barks at her from up ahead to stop, that she’ll owe him for every fleck of paint her shoes scrape off the bench.

  
  
Then, she tries to nap.  
  
She almost falls asleep, too— it’s a thick summer day, humid and getting worse as they wind towards the shore, and Beau’s just drifting off when she gets the sudden feeling she’s no longer alone in the carriage. The sudden feeling of being watched, this tickle at the back of her neck, where the little all-seeing eye is stamped and hidden under her hair.

  
  
(And god, speaking of the hair— it’s down for the first time in _years_ , maybe? Far too long for Beau’s liking, and she’d sat while Nott curled it at the ends, itching all over.)

  
  
She doesn’t open her eyes. The tickle spreads into a full shiver, and she lets it wash down her back, curling her toes in her new, stiff shoes. In her mind’s eye, she can see the other figure stand, loom over her, unbothered by the shifting of the car.  
  
Just a dream, she thinks, just like Caleb. How Caleb will only come partly awake sometimes and his eyes will roll like marbles at something in the doorway, something decidedly not there.  
  
_Like thrashing in your blankets, but only in your head_ , he says, and grips his forearms tighter. She wonders if she’s caught his affliction.  
  
There’s a laugh, low and warm in her ear, and her eyes fly open to an empty carriage.  
  
If Beau were superstitious, though— which she _isn’t_ , honest— she’d say she saw a swirl of green in the corner of her eye, like something caught up in the sudden gust that pushes in the window curtains.  
  
Somehow, she can’t quite fall asleep after that.  
  
-  
  
“Can you sleep in here tonight?” Jester Lavorre asks her, tear-stained, rumpled, and still absolutely breathtaking, and Beau knows that she’s fucked.  
  
_Sorry, Fjord._

* * *

  
  
She takes Jester by the face, and Jester’s mouth drops open.  
  
(It’s late. Nott is trimming her hair where Yasha had cut it off in that single stroke, evening out where the teeth of the greatsword bit a little strangely.  
Beau’s face is still hot from crying, mixing dizzily with the cold, subsequent dread of being watched while you cry.  
  
‘I always wanted to have a daughter, you know,’ Nott says, looking for something in her little beaded bag. She pauses, takes Beau’s hand in her smaller ones. ‘Just never had the time.’

  
  
‘Yeah, well.’ Beau sniffs. ‘My parents always wanted a son.’

  
  
Nott’s nails dig into her hand for a moment.  
  
‘No child is guilty of being what they are, Beau. If they didn’t understand that, they didn’t deserve you.’  
  
Beau looks over her shoulder to see tears rolling down Nott’s little face, bleeding into her blouse. She has to lean in to hear.  
  
‘I’d give anything, anything, to see my son again, and they just. Let you go.’

  
  
She releases Beau’s hand and resumes digging around in her bag with renewed frenzy, still crying. Finally, as Beau’s neck starts to twinge from craning around for so long, she sees Nott emerge with a small steel razor, surprisingly clean. Like it’s gone unused for a long time. ( _Caleb could stand to borrow it_ , she thinks, but really, it’d be dwarfed in either of their hands.)

  
  
She hands Beau her cracked little compact and ties off part of her hair, just the longest part on top, leaving the sides down.  
  
‘But I could— you could have a mother who always wants you around, if you want, even if you shout and steal things. Especially if you steal things.’  
  
She brushes at the sides of Beau’s hair, slides the cover off the razor. ‘I’d never let you go.’)

  
  
“No child is guilty of being. If he made you feel that way, he doesn’t deserve you. And your mom, I know she loves you, but it’s okay if that’s not enough.”  
  
Jester’s eyes gloss with tears and she lets out a sharp exhale, grasping at Beau’s elbows with cold fingers.  
  
“I promise, you’ll find someone who makes you feel different. Like you’re _always_ wanted, always. Like you’re never too much. Like you couldn’t be even if you tried.”  
  
Jester’s mouth keeps dropping further open with her heavy breaths. Not for the first time, Beau gets lost in how pretty she is, and not for the first time she shoves it down, bites out what she’s paid to say. “Someone like Mister Fjord.”

  
  
Jester flinches visibly at that, but doesn’t let go. “What about you?” she pleads. “You, too?”

  
  
Fuck it. It’s not like Fjord even likes her, anyway.  
  
Beau tips forward on her heels so her forehead presses into Jester’s.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @seafleece on tumblr, come say hello! and ask me about this, it's a weird one and i need motivation to write the actual dang thing.


End file.
